


Battle Born

by arda_fata



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Original Mythology, Romance, Sisters, female warriors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arda_fata/pseuds/arda_fata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After falling gravely wounded and getting lost in the midst of battle, Elros lands in the hands of two young misterious females. Warriors of their people, it is their duty to make sure their borders are not crossed by anyone.<br/>When the elder one turns out to share a special connection with Elros, it seems that they will have to fight a fate that seems to be intent on keeping them apart by duty, blood, and honor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of the Girls

“Carlia!” the elder woman called suddenly, her voice cracking across the armory like a whip across the air.

The sixteen year old sighted discreetly before straightening her back and walking to her captain with quick steps. Better not to keep Saranka waiting for even the shortest times. The Tacha was irascible in her best days, positively murderous in the worse.

 

“Tacha!” Carlia answered, stomping the base of her spear in the floor and bending her knees, bowing her head in an obedient stance. Saranka ran her eyes over the girl in front of her, and nodded curtly in approval before giving her instructions.

 

“When we ride back, we will be taking Mienka back with us. You and Iskandra will replace her and Prisha for the next year and what is left of this. We can’t have sentinels who are wrecked and can’t do their duty after their companion falls.”

“Aye, Tacha!” the young girl answered curtly and obediently.

 

“You have your instructions.” The elder told her before placing two fingers under Carlia’s chin and lifting her face to observe her from every angle.

 

“You are so very beautiful. Just like your mother.” Saranka sneered and the younger clenched her teeth, whatever crossed her lips next would not be pleasant, she knew that well enough. It was always like that with Saranka.

 

The Tacha disliked them with a passion and a vengeance that bordered on plain hatred, because she knew well that her rank as Tacha, as Captain, had been granted to her after their mother refused it to leave with their father.

 

Queen Miarai, by then princess, had wanted Sathya, their mother, to become the next Chief Tacha and then make her one of the five Stragoit that commanded the army.

 

However, their mother had refused the charge and left with her lifemate, a traveling merchant to whom she had given no sons, only two daughters, before they died waylaid by orcs.

 

As it was, Miarai did not trust Saranka enough to confide her more than a small part of the borders.

 

Therefore, the grown Fata resented that, and took her anger out on the girl before her or her sister.

 

“Sathya was so strikingly beautiful that she knew her looks could earn her a living anywhere. Then, she became the wife of a merchant… or one of his merchandises, who knows with men? You could do just as well yourself, little Carlia, you, too, are beautiful,” she told the girl before walking away.

 

Carlia waited a few seconds before going back to her sister.

 

“I hate her, one day I might cave into the temptation to throw her into a pile of orcs.” She murmured as they finished their packs. “You might want to pack heavy; they’re sending us to the border.”

 

As it was, after their parent’s deaths, the Clan in the Blue Mountains had taken in Carlia and Iskandra, and they were now serving as soldiers, as was the custom of their people.

 

Fatae were, against most expectations, a hardy people.

 

Of their origin, no one was quite certain, there were no few legends that claimed to tell where they had come from.

 

One spoke of a wild beast, a large wild feline, falling in love with a man and turning into a woman by means of dark magic. In others, the cat loved an elf and others said it was a dwarf. The craziest most unlikely version stated it had been Oromë himself.

 

 _Yeah, right. Who thought that, really;_ Carlia wondered absentmindedly and rolling her eyes, _utterly ridiculous_!

 

And others said a powerful warlock had tried to restore his beloved daughters’ lives by binding the strength of wild animals to their souls. There were a thousand more legends, some more probable than others were. Nevertheless, no one knew the exact true.

 

Most of their people, however, were more concerned with the present and the future than with the past.

 

As were they, Carlia and Iskandra’s main goal was to survive in this unforgiving society, under Saranka’s tyranny, until she died in eighteen months.

 

When you were one of the cursed and your natural lifespan was of thirty years counted, the past was not half as important as the present, and the future, for the most, was shorter than the past.

 

“Must it be us, sister?” Iskandra asked, annoyed at thought of being sent away from pretty much everyone and everything.

 

“It must, Ikki, Tacha’s orders. Look at it from the bright side; we will rest from her presence for a few months… We might run into some adventures of our own.” Her elder sister told her, trying to put a brave face on for the younger’s sake.

 

“You hate the idea as much as I do, admit it, Car,” Ikki answered.

 

“Yeah, pretty much, but we have no choice.” Her sister answered with a sarcastic smile.

 

“So… we should just put up with it?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much. Could be worse, though…”

 

“How so?”

 

“She could be staying with us, we could be sent apart, or we might actually get in a bad fight…” Carlia answered carelessly, and her sister nodded in agreement.

 

“What if we found our Lifemates in the border?” Ikki asked, excited at the thought.

 

“Unlikely… besides, you’re only fourteen! What makes you think is right for you to sleep around like a desperate Fata of 29?” Car told her, frowning halfheartedly.

 

Finding a lifemate…

 

Even if the thought had a certain appeal, Carlia was not even sure she wanted to get involved in such a situation.

 

It was known amongst their people that the only way any of them could survive their thirtieth birthday was to find a lifemate and bound your life to his.

 

Problem was… it could not be any random male.

 

It had to be someone special, someone who was the half of your soul. However, it was not easy to find.

 

The only way to know if a Fata had found her lifemate was the mark, resembling her animal spirit, on his right hand. It appeared in the following twenty-four hours after having intercourse with him, and only after.

 

So many of their people spent their maturity jumping from bed to bed in search of her match.

 

“What if you find yours? You’re sixteen; many begin to search at your age.” Iskandra asked as they threw their packs over their shoulders and walked to the door of the armory.

 

Carlia snorted. “If it’s meant to happen, then it’s meant to happen. If it’s not, no matter how many males you bed, the mark won’t appear.”

 

“What if it’s a handsome elf coming to sweep you off your feet?” her sister taunted.

 

“That’s foolish, sister! Everyone knows that markings with elves usually end up badly. If they claim you, their people outcasts them, if they don’t you die without a hope.” Carlia reasoned. “No, I would never take a chance with anyone with elven blood in his veins. A man or a dwarf, no more!”

 

“But Dwarves tend to be extremely possessive; it’s the end of your freedom. I would not want to become another jewel a dwarf’s hoard.” Ikki whined as they walked to the stables along with the rest of the scouting patrol.

 

“A man, then. We’ll try our lucks with men.” Car conceded with a wicked smirk. “Just keep in mind, sweet sister, that you’ll be on duty, and returning home with a mark won’t do you any favors with our superiors.”

 

Carlia cared not for being mated. It was too much of a complication and she simply did not want to bind herself to someone who might or not love her, who could possibly even resent her for the boundaries that being a Fata’s lifemate implied.

 

Elves more often than not treated their kind with scorn, considering little more than animals, way below the race of men or dwarfs. A mating was, for the most, a source of shame, and therefore it caused resentment towards the (un)fortunate fata whose mark they wore.

 

Men were often naturally unfaithful creatures, who were angered when they realized that they once they mated a fata they would be unable to have sexual intercourse with anyone but their mate.

 

Dwarves were often the less dangerous choice. Since it was known that dwarves would cherish and treasure the other half of their soul. Their One, as they called it. It was a fitting choice… if one did not mind being locked in the house behind a forge.

 

“What I want doesn’t matter; you know full well that we can’t choose our lifemates. If I land with anyone, then with him I will be, and the rest is completely out of my hands.” The eldest told her sister as they mounted the black mares that were used by the army.

 

“As you wish. We better get going.” Iskandra answered and they both headed their horses to follow the rest of their group.

 

Carlia spurred her mare to catch up with her sister and sighted. It promised to be an extremely long year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tacha - Captain


	2. The Boys

The hunting trip had been essentially a success. They had gained enough game to keep them stocked for a few weeks, if the meat was treated adequately.

 

Moreover, neither of the boys had been wounded. Not even the scratch of a lose branch.

 

Maglor could be worse than an overprotective mother could, at times… especially when it came to the boys.

 

Maedhros took a deep breath as he listened to the happy chatter behind him. They were almost home and would soon be able to clean themselves and rest. Mostly, they wanted to get out of the stark cold and back into their homes. It was late in the year and it would be the last trip they made for a few months, since winter was around the corner.

 

Behind him, the twins were chatting merrily about their hits and small adventures they had had in the wild.

 

Elros had outdone Elrond in this trip, the proof were the rabbits and birds loaded in the small cart they had brought to get the game home, next to the boar Maedhros had killed with a spear. The boys had been utterly astounded as they say the old elf take the animal down on his own.

 

Most of the neri that had been to the hunting trip were silent, but it was comfortable silence, tired and friendly.

 

“Lord Maedhros, will we make it home beginning next week?” Elrond asked as he spurred his horse to ride next to the redhead elf.

 

“I fervently hope so, but I don’t expect us to get there any sooner.” He answered and the boy nodded before returning to his brother.

 

They had turned four and twenty that year. Eighteen years living under their care and apparently, they were not in a hurry to leave the Fëanorions for their kinder, more reputable kin in the coast. Not that him and Macalaurë were about to throw them out. On the contrary, the presence of the boys seemed to scare off some of the ghosts that liked to haunt him and his brother. As if their very innocence kept the evil of the Oath at bay.

 

They grew faster than any elven children he had seen, but way slower than he knew human young did. Elrond and Elros were in that last stage of adolescence, right on the verge of adulthood, where they could be counted amongst the grown-ups, but still had the benefit of being considered youngsters.

 

Maedhros looked up as he noted something was off and lifted his right arm as a sight for the group to stop as he did. He called Elrond over with a sign and he approached the old elf.

 

“What do you hear?” he asked softly and seriously.

 

“Nothing…” Elrond answered, surprised by the question.

 

“Precisely, tell everyone to move quickly and quietly. This silence is unnatural.” Maedhros ordered and the group began to fasten their pace, all remnants of conversation ending suddenly.

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Car, do you see anything?” Ikki asked as they hid between the leaves and higher branches of the trees, a week away from their hut.

 

“Nothing, but they are way too close, I sense them. Can you not?” Her sister answered and they moved forward, jumping between the branches as silently as cats.

 

They had received the news of the orc pack and glimpsed them only once, but that was more than enough to get them alert.

 

Carlia had sent a raven to Saranka almost a moon ago, but she had not received an answered. She knew it could only mean one thing…

 

She had them against the wall.

 

Her letter was probably turned to ashes, and if they did not stop the orcs, they would be judged for treason.

 

And executed.

 

If they sent a letter to Andrina, their Stratgoit, ignoring Saranka’s authority, they would be judged for malfeasance.

 

And exiled.       

 

They could also try to stop the orcs on their own. If they did, they would be rewarded.

 

And honored.

 

If not they would be captured.

 

And butchered.

 

What a disaster.

 

They would likely be slaughtered if the two of them tried to take the orcs on their own.

 

“Maybe we should insist with Tacha? Moreover, sent the same letter to Andrina? We could claim that since we received no answer we feared the bird was lost. What do you think, sister?” Iskandra proposed, knowing better than anyone how to read her sister’s expressions and thoughts.

 

“That Saranka is a poisonous spider. She will make it seem like we were disobeying and trying to undermine her authority, she is cunning and sly like that. No, we cannot risk it.” Carlia sighted, desiring desperately that a miracle would happen, and knowing the Valar would not listen. “Let us go home for now. We are going to writing our last letters and try to plan something to kill the little bastards without dying in the process.”

 

“What are our options?” her sister asked but the elder ordered her to silence by pressing a finger to her lips.

 

The faint sounds of battle and screams reached them and the younger turned her frightened eyes to her sister.

 

“They have attacked someone, a group by the sounds of it… we should better hurry, might be one of our tessera…” Ikki urged Carlia but the older shook her head softly.

 

“It is not one of ours, we would have been able to sense them and we would have received notice. But you are right, we ought to hurry and see what has happened.”

 

That said, both of them jumped to ground and ran in the direction they heard the noises coming from, only to find an all-out attack on a group of elves.

 

“This is going to get nasty…” Carlia sighed as she and her sister took out their short swords joined the fray against the orcs.

 


	3. Waking Up

Long, thin, fingers running over his forehead were the first thing he registered as consciousness slowly and painfully returned y to him.

 

“All is well, you are safe,” a soft voice told him as his eyelids opened slowly, his vision blinded by the light that entered from the window across the room, “Carlia, he’s awake!”

 

“Do not yell like that, you will only upset him. Mercy, Ikki, you’re incorrigible!” a voice answered as someone approached the bed. There was something soothing and alluring about that voice.

 

Elros tried to focus his eyes and saw a young woman hovering over him. She had bright green eyes, and a heavy mane of wavy brown hair. She seemed somewhat familiar, but he could not pin point where had she seen her before.

 

“You are safe here, and you can stay until your wounds have healed,” she informed him before standing up. He did not remember much…

 

How had he landed there? Where was Elrond? Moreover, what happened to Maedhros?

 

“Here, drink this, will help with the pain…” the other woman approached the bed with a clay bowl and sat next to him on the bed. She had long brown hair and blue eyes, and she seemed to be eldest of the two. Neither could have reached twenty yet, they seemed so much younger than he was, and at twenty-four, he looked younger than his years.

 

He remembered the orcs coming over them… there had not been many of them, but they had been ambushed.

 

“What happened?” he asked, worried about his brother and guardian.

 

“Hush, drink!” she ordered pressing the bowl to his lips. Elros tried to push her away as the foul smell of the concoction in the bowl reached him.

 

“What in all of Arda is that?” he demanded and the younger held him down.

 

“Something for the pain,” the elder girl answered and pinched his nose, forcing him to open his mouth. Contained and pressed down by the other girl, and feeling terribly week, he gave in and drank the green contents of the bowl.

 

“I’m not in any pain!” he protested after they both backed away.

 

“No, at the moment you’re not, but wait until this wears off” the elder challenged as her sister left the room.

 

“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked, eyeing her carefully. This creature was not an elleth, certainly was not human. She seemed to be one of fatae that dwell in the mountains northeast.

 

Elros had heard all kind of legends concerning them and their practice. For the most, he believed that they were only tales to frighten children and keep young men from straying. A people who were essentially all female, and most of them vicious warriors, they tolerated none to cross their borders, be them elves or orcs.

 

The legends also went that they were set out to seduce young men and drink their blood. That the fools that fell under their spell were taken captive and never seen again. That they had power over the mind and the spirit and that they could steal your soul if you were not careful.

 

Maglor and Maedhros, of course, had told them that all that was merely oldwife’s tales.

 

Yet, here she was, long, skinny, and standing in front of him.

 

“My name is Carlia; the one with me is my sister, Iskandra.” She offered, sitting on the bed next to him and taking his arm in her hands. Elros noticed a deep wound in his arm, running from his wrist to an inch above his elbow and shuddered.

 

Just by that wound, he ought to be in terrible pain.

 

“You are in one of our outposts. We brought you here. We do not know where your group is. They took off after your leader was wounded, your brother with him. You fell into the river, the current dragged you off. Some searched downstream; by the time we found you, they were gone. I believe that it was there were you broke your left leg… ” she answered clinically, massaging his arm with ling skilled fingers.

 

“A broken leg? Nevertheless, how do you know he is my brother? But you said he is wounded? He cannot be! Do you know if he is alright?” he asked, turning to see where his leg, effectively, was held tightly bandaged and stilled by two small wood planks.

 

“Your cousin, then, you had the same face from what I managed to see. Although you elves all look the same…” she shrugged, “and yes, it is broken, a few inches below the knee. I am not certain your cousin is wounded, I just saw a big blood splatter on his clothes as they took off, it might or not be his.”

 

“What was that that you gave me?” Elros asked warily and she laughed softly running her fingers carefully over his wound. By all rights, he should be screaming in pain.

 

“No magic there, big fellow, just a bunch of carefully picked weeds.” Carlia answered, as, to his shock, his wound seemed to heal faster.

 

“They left, you say? How long ago? I need to return to them, Elrond must be worried!” he told her, panic sipping through his voice.

 

“You are not going anywhere on that leg, trust me on that one. Plus, they left three days ago. We expect a search party to come later, but who knows how far they were going.” She smirked and moved farther down the bed to begin massaging his toes.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked as she moved her fingers gently up his ankle, careful not to move his leg much.

 

“Healing you,” she answered.

 

“Healing me?” he asked and she nodded.

 

“It is something I can do. I can help people heal when I touch them, although the process is slow and it is extremely tiring.” Carlia answered.

 

“Who taught you to do that?” Elros asked and she lowered her eyes.

 

“I was born like that! We all are blessed in different fashion… my sister can see what people are thinking when she sees their eyes, I can heal… there is a friend who can talk to plants… We are born like that. Why is it that no one questions the fact that you elves are older than dirt and just don’t die, but you question our born skills?”

 

“Elves die… all the time!” he told her, annoyed by her words, “we are at war!”

 

“I have news for you! As you have so cleverly pointed out, we are at war! Everyone is dying all the time! You elves ought to have stayed wherever it is you come from, because you are not quite helping in here. The power in the north grows strong and instead of rallying, you have your minds set on your petty disputes and keep destroying one another. It is ridiculous!” Carlia snapped and he held back a growl.

 

“Do not speak of something you do not understand! Stop talking of matters of which you know little about! They had their reasons! Maybe they were mistaken in their reasons, but still! I am sure that your people have some terrible histories as well!” Elros felt compelled to defend Maglor and Maedhros, along with their household and their soldiers. They were his family… maybe not by blood, but they were far closer to him than the family in which he had been born.

 

“We do not go killing around our sister clans, even when there are disputes with the east and the south. We all are focused on the fact that we have a common enemy. Besides, they are our allies! For all the wisdom you elves claim to posses, let me tell you that killing and holding grudges against one’s potential allies is just stupid. Duh!”

 

They glared at each other for a few seconds before Carlia returned her attention to his leg.

 

“This is exhausting… you are taking far longer and far more effort to heal than it would our people,” she frowned softly then shrugged it off, “must be because you’re an elf…”

 

“Half-elf” he explained hastily and she eyed him with a skeptical look and an arched eyebrow.

 

“Barring your wounds, you seem whole to me,” Carlia murmured with an amused smirk.

 

“Not literally,” Elros snorted and rolled his eyes. “My grandfather was a man, my grandmother was elleth… on my… father side, that is,” Elros frowned softly and looked away. He had never been entirely comfortable with calling Eärendil “father.” It just did not seem right.

 

She looked at him, less than impressed by this information. “The paternal line is uncertain and it means little to us. What is your maternal line?”

 

Elros lowered his eyes, annoyed, and took a deep breath, “Yára is the one I call mother,”

 

Elwing was a more than sore spot to him.

 

“But she is not your mother,” Carlia insisted.

 

“Our mother abandoned us to the hands of our would-be killers…,” he snapped.

 

She lifted her eyes to his face and smiled sympathetically.

 

“My family was killed by orcs,” she offered tentatively.

 

“Sorry for that,” he told her and she nodded once.

 

“That is all I can do for you now. The best medicines I can offer you are rest, and of that I will see you get plenty” Carlia told him, standing up and taking the bowl in her hands. “What is your name, by the way?” she asked, before walking to the door.

 

“I am Elros… Macalaurion” he barely managed to dissimulate the pause in his voice, but she nodded and left.

 

He leaned back against the pillow and covered his eyes with his good hand. After waking up to find his body in such a state, he was frightened of what would happen next.

 

That Carlia creature was…

 

“Argh” he grunted softly, annoyed at her arrogant attitude and holier-than-thou stance towards the elves. Who did she think she was? Had Maedhros heard her little speech, he would have probably skinned her alive. She knew nothing! She understood nothing! Orcs had killed her family… so what? They were at war, and there were bound to be civilian casualties! At least his fëa and hröa were relatively safe from her. She did not seem bent on seducing him to turn him into a slave.

 

A search party… at least they were expecting a search party.

 

He personally could not wait for Maglor to take him out of there…

 

He only hoped the blood on Elrond’s clothes had not been his, although the alternative was not very pleasant.

 

Orcas had ambushed them…

 

And they had thrown Maedhros off his horse… fierce and experienced as he was… they had killed the horse and dragged him down.

 

Elrond had turned to where he had been and had launched in after Maedhros, ignoring the old elf’s orders to flee.

 

He had followed his brother just when more orcs arrived at the fray.

 

Amidst the fight, he had lost sight of them as he tried to hack through the throng of creatures around him search of his guardian or his brother.

 

Until he felt it… sharp stab to his arm and then a foggy dizziness had overcome him.

 

He did not remember much after that, except at moment when cold had surrounded him like bolt in his bones.

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Do you really believe he is going to survive?” Iskandra asked her sister as she polished a small set of hunting knives.

 

“If he is not dead by now, then… yeah, he’ll make it through and then he won’t be our problem,” Carlia answered, remembering the poor state in which they had found him.

 

His arm had been the worst after suffering the wound from a poisoned blade, and the following infection. She was shocked she had been able to heal that, and fell no little pride in her skills. It was almost as if his body was willing to adjust itself to her healing skills.

 

“Will you tell him, then, the extent of his wound?”

 

“Nah… that will only scare him out of his wits. And Valar alone know how such a frightened elf might react. Elves are an odd people, Ikki, remember that. While they might make good allies, they do not make good friends, least those that came from across the sea. And this one looks and speaks just like them.”

 

“He must be older than dirt, then” Iskandra murmured with an amused smirk.

 

“For you, fifty years are older than dirt,” her sister answered teasingly and proceeded to take care of the small sword she had left on the table next to her sister’s knives.


	4. Back At Home

Maglor clenched his fist so tightly that he felt his fingernails cut into the palm of his hand, he took a deep breath, and then another, to steady his nerves.

 

He ought to have gone with them.

 

He should not have simply taken their safety for granted.

 

No matter how many times had Nelyo been out and how many times had he taken the twins along with him, he simply should not have assumed that nothing would happen.

 

He was leading the search party out tomorrow morning with the first light. Once he was certain Maedhros and Elrond would be fine.

 

Three of his men had died by the hands of the orcs, and one of his wards was missing.

 

He would find Elros if he had to search the lands around inch by inch.

 

Maedhros had received a terrible gash in the back, deep to the bone, and his brother had to hold back the impulse to push his finger in it whenever the eldest made a remark about adding another scar to the collection.

 

Of course, they had Nelyo drugged halfway out of his mind to alleviate the pain, so Maglor forgave the dark humor his brother was using.

 

Elrond, on the other hand, had a minor wound on the shoulder, and but a deep gash on the thigh, which fortunately was not poisoned.

 

The boy was currently at his room, with their medic not allowing him to walk any further than the service down the hall and back. It made Maglor’s stomach clenched whenever he saw the dark look and endless anguish in his young ward’s frantic eyes.

 

They had been only three days in, only long enough for their wounds to be tended, and for Maglor to organize a search party. They would depart tomorrow with the first light, and he fervently hoped they would find the boy alive… at the moment, alive was enough, the rest Maglor would better think of how to fix, but for now…

 

Everything was set to start the search.

 

Maglor eyed the door to Elrond’s room once more before knocking gently and waiting for Elrond to allow him in.

 

The door creaked as he slowly opened it and found his young ward in bed, with a book open in his hands.

 

The boy’s hollow eyes and tense shoulders told Maglor that the book had probable been used a shield rather than study or entertainment. Mostly it was the fact that Elrond was holding it upside down.

 

“We will be leaving tomorrow morning, at first light.” He announced, pretending not to notice the book, and the boy nodded.

 

“We shall find him, you’ll see,” Maglor attempted at a smile to reassure his ward, but it fell flat before him.

 

He was certain, after eighteen years, that if he had been blessed with children of his own, he would not love those kids more than he loved Elrond and Elros. It was a very strong experience to raise children into adults. “Erestor will stay here to do the job of the administration. If there is any trouble here, I trust you will go to him. I am also entrusting you to help him with the numbers as soon as you can go downstairs, hopefully in tomorrow or the day after.”

 

“Why me?” Elrond asked, tensely.

 

“Because I will not have you empty handed and fretting; it might take a toll on your health and I am not risking that. In addition, Erestor will need help, since I will be gone and Maedhros is no condition to move. You need not concern yourself with that, Arissë and Yára will look after him.”

 

Maglor instructed and the boy nodded obediently.

 

The elf took a few steps forward and sat on the bed in front of the boy.

 

“I am not coming back until I know something, Elrond,” he said, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulders.

 

“Do you promise? Moreover, you will tell me, right? No matter how bad it is?” he asked, placing his hands on Maglor’s arms.

 

The trust reflected on Elrond’s gray eyes made Maglor’s stomach clench, considering their whole history, but he did not let it show. The last thing the boy needed was to be actively reminded of Sirion… not that either of them could believe the boys could ever forget it.

 

“I promise.” The elf told him with a sigh and kissed the boy’s forehead softly. “I know you’re getting a little too old for that, but please, humor me. I know not when we shall meet again, although I hope it will not be long,”

 

“I do not mind,” Elrond told him and Maglor left, pretending not to notice the way he clenched the sheets in his fists and the angry tears that threatened to overwhelm the boy.

 

The impotence of fearing for the safety of a sibling was a feeling he was too familiar with, and he fervently wished that they would at least find news of Elros… if only for his brother’s sake, if the worst had happened.

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

He was starting to ache and he felt worst with each passing minute. After waking up yesterday morning, he was beginning to understand the use of the herb mixture the sisters had given him.

 

Therefore, he had stopped resisting their delivery every few hours. That did not mean the thing stopped smelling and tasting as foul as orc’s piss.

 

The small hole in the opposite wall that served as a window was filled with stars, but fortunately, he could not see Vingilotë.

 

The last thing he need was the taunting memory of his parents abandoning Elrond and him as children.

 

Yes, he much preferred the life he had in Amon Ereb than the life he had had in Sirion. However, it still hurt to know that his brother and he could die for all Elwing and Eärendil cared.

 

They had had no way of knowing that the Fëanorians would spare lives of their children.

 

Elwing had jumped from a cliff rather than protect them, and Eärendil never came back to rescue his sons.

 

“Some people simply cannot be parents and some people simply should not.” He grunted softly, taking advantage of the fact that no one would chastise him for saying that.

 

For all their parental relationship with Maglor and Yára, they had done everything in their power to remind the children of their lineage as often as they could.

 

Elros turned his head to the small bed across from his, where the girls were curled into each other, sleeping deeply.

 

It was strange how things changed when looked at them from a different perspective.

 

They seemed smaller, and much frailer than they did when awake. There was no trail of Carlia’s sensible determination or Iskandra’s joyous energy.

 

Fortunately, for him that also meant that Carlia’s sharp tongue was also at rest and not busying itself on his skin.

 

He only hoped that Maglor did not take long to send a search party for him. Elros simply could not imagine what he would do if his foster father abandoned him as well or left him for dead.

 

“Stop that!” a soft hiss called from across the room and he turned his head to see blue eyes glaring at him.

 

“Stop what?” he asked in a low voice, noticing Iskandra was still asleep.

 

“Fretting and moping! I can hear you all the way from there!” she told him as she released herself gently from her sister’s arms.

 

“You can’t hear people do that! Besides, I thought you were asleep!” he told Carlia as she left the bed and walked to him.

 

“I usually cannot hear it, but by golly, your thoughts and feelings are unusually loud!”

 

“By golly?”

 

“Yes, by golly!”

 

“You have the strangest manner of speech,” Elros told her as she sat next to him.

 

“I was not asleep. For some reason, I have not been able to sleep since you arrived, at least when we are in the same room.” She told him and reached out for his wounded arm.

 

After two or three more of her massages, he felt much better than when he had awakened. Her power, indeed, was something impressive. Sadly, for him, his leg still needed some more help.

 

“It is strange…,” she mumbled, letting go of his arm.

 

“What is? Beside this whole disaster, I mean…,” he asked pointed and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“Healing you is far more draining than healing my sister or any of our companions. But since you woke up, you have healed faster than anyone I have encountered, it was not so when you were unconscious,” she answered and frowned softly.

 

“Well, had you ever healed someone with elven blood?” he asked. As far as Elros knew, elves bodies were strong and healed faster than human bodies. Although he did not healed as fast as an elf or grow as fast as a human. Most men he had encountered tended to believe between three and five years younger.

 

“Once, two years ago. Nevertheless, you will not find them any time soon. That group left south and east not three months after our encounter. They expected to escape the dark lord in the north.” She answered, “Wise of them to do so. We’re essentially all screwed.”

 

“They say an army came from the west, some years ago, but we have received no news from them, personally. Our guardians… my father and his brother… are not in good graces with them… and I honestly do not believe I want to be. Since they are the very same people that… well, let’s just say that if they believe we’re waiting to be rescued, they are very wrong.” Elros told her firmly.

 

“ _You_ are waiting to be rescued, though, from my evil paws…,” she answered playfully. His hand felt warm between hers despite the fact that there was a slightly cold wind coming from the mountains.

 

“What makes you think I am truly?” he answered in the same tone and she smirked.

 

She ran her fingers softly over his, and then eyed him carefully.

 

“Are you now telling me that you want to stay?” Carlia challenged softly, Elros shook his head, and she gave him a mock sigh of relief.

 

“Your hands are soft, barely a roughened spot in them. Moreover, the few there are, they are not from sword or hammer. You are a princeling.” She told him, releasing his hand.

 

He blushed softly and she smirked, “It is also the manner of your speech, and even in your clothes. Not many go hunting with fine wool and silk undershirts, silver buckles in their boots…”

 

“The boots were a birthday present,” he smiled tiredly.

 

“An expensive present… whoever gave that to you clearly cares.” She answered and Elros nodded.

 

“He is my father, although not by blood,”

 

“In my experience and observations, there are times when our parents are not the ones that sire or give birth to us, rather the ones that care for us and love us. Many of us end up being closer to our Tachas* or Stragoits* than to our own mothers.”

 

Elros closed his eyes and pondered the truth of her words, so akin to his own thoughts on the matter.

 

“Well, we’re both tired and I should leave you. You better sleep, and please try to stop thinking so loudly,” Carlia told him, leaving the bed and returning to her sister’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tacha - Captain  
> *Stragoit - General


	5. Keeping Watch In The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have been away for nearly a month, but don't worry, weekly chapters ought return soon.
> 
> This was very, very hard to write, since I had never written Eärendil before. So I apologize if it is amiss.

 

 

He could not see his son… his eldest was missing.

 

He could see his youngest sitting in bed, by the window, with the kinslayer sitting in front of him.

 

In the same bedchamber where both of them had once played, that now belonged only to Elrond.

 

Elros had taken the room next to his brother’s when he had turned thirteen.

 

Where was his eldest son?

 

Why was he not in the fortress of the kinslayers?

 

Eärendil winced and buried his hands in his hair.

 

It was painful and it was plain torment.

 

To be able to see everything from where he was, but to be unable to participate in what he saw.

 

He briefly wondered if it had been a gift from the Valar or a curse from the jewel in his forehead.

 

Twenty years since he had last meet his children, they had been four at the time.

 

His babies… the ones he had left a year after their birth. They had been his boys when he last saw them… and they were no longer boys. Sadly, they had never been his.

 

Someone had to do it…

 

Someone had to bring the message across the sea…

 

There was no one else…

 

However, he desperately desired that there had been someone else, someone trustworthy, more experienced, even older… Perhaps his own father? Someone else to take over so he could stay with his wife, to raise and watch over his sons, and be there for them.

 

No! There was no one else! It had been his task, and it was his mission and he never skirted his responsibilities.

 

Besides, if he had ignored the calling he felt in his very soul, which he would not have done, even if he could, it would only have been a matter of time before they all fell prey to Morgoth’s malice.

 

 _They, too, were your responsibility…_ called a nagging voice in the back of his mind.

 

Yes, they had been his responsibility and he had failed them…

 

His beautiful wife, whom he loved with all his might, who hated him with a passion and vengeance.

 

_We have to go back! I have the jewel! We go back we can trade the jewel for the children! They will not refuse! They cannot! They were alive when I left! We have to return! Eärendil, turn around now!_

 

Still, he stood his ground, and they had continued and Elwing had cried and begged for days on end. He had not turned because every single bone in his body was screaming at him to continue… and he was certain he would not be able to survive it if they returned to find his sons dead. Better to hope and believe the contrary than have the certainty of their deaths.

 

Now he was certain she would never forgive him, much least after he had confronted her for jumping, for not protecting the children herself.

 

_Do not dare to judge me! You were not there! You were never there! You did not hear the screams around you! The things they screamed… you too would have reacted the same had you been in my place… there was no one to help us!_

_They kept screaming, through the streets! There were screams everywhere! You do not care for them; you have no idea what I felt like! They were screaming again and again and again! Do you want to know what was it they screamed? “They are dead! The twin princes are dead! They have killed the twins!” What else was I supposed to believe when I had not seen my babies the entire morning! I knew not where they were!_

_They were at the beach, they loved the beach, and their nurse had promised them a picnic. The fray began at the beach and I had seen them leave early… what else supposed to believe with what I heard and what I knew?_

_How was I to know that they meant not my boys but the kinslayers…?_

 

Eärendil believed that what had sat worse with her had been the fact that the Valar would never allow them to return to Middle-Earth. She had made her choice after, when she was certain that there was no going back. She could not face death, after having lost everything, she dared not face death.

 

She had seemed aloof and composed through most of the process. Until he had entered their chamber at Olwë’s palace one night and found her crying over her son’s portraits. It had been a small silver locket, one child on each side, and a small braid beneath each portrait.

 

_You… have… lost me… my babies… I want you to leave! Leave me alone! I do not want to see your face again! Leave or so help me I will gouge your eyes out! Thirteen hours! Do you know what it feels like? Thirteen hours to give birth to them! I lost them in less than a morning! I was alone!_

 

_You saw them first three months after their birth and left before they turned a full year of age! You were not their father! The next time you saw them they had turned four and stayed no more than two months! You were valuable to only one aspect of their making and for that I could have tumbled myself beneath anyone!_

She had screamed, raged, and cried that night, and he had held her all the while.

 

Quiet, aloof, composed Elwing had finally broken down, and had finally cried all the tears she had not been allowed to cry since she was a little girl. He remembered every word she had said, but he could barely remember his answers. She was entitled to her reaction, she was entitled to her pain, and to show it in whatever way she preferred.

 

He was more than used to holding everything down, and drowning his demons in the present, and silencing the past.

 

Then, the following morning, she had clung to him, tried to stop him from leaving.

 

_You just do not care! You will leave again and leave me alone again and you simple could not care less! But you know what? Never mind! Forget it! I should be used to it by now._

No promise or guarantee that he was coming back could soothe her, and by noon, she had returned to her cool aloof self.

 

That had been what had hurt the worse, not the rage, not the begging, not the demands… no, Elwing out of control had been right, after a fashion, because it meant that she still loved him, that she still cared about them. That she still allowed him into her heart.

 

Silent, detached Elwing… hurt in his very soul, because it meant she had finally given up on him.

 

He had gained everything he sought to achieve, and he had lost everything he cared about in the process.

 

His sons were the Kinsalyer’s boys, through and through.

 

He had seen them grow up, cared for, and nurtured by the Fëanorians.

 

And his wife… well, she would rather not hear his name again, ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Elwing will likely be OOC but I would like to make it known that there is a reason as to why is she all cruel and *itchy to her husband.
> 
> In my mind, at this point of the story, she has just hit the bottom. Elwing has reached her limit and exploded. She has lost everything, the family she was born in is dead, the family that was born to her is lost, there is no way to go on, no reason to continue, and the only person left beside her is Eärendil.


	6. My Arms Will Hold You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think is about time we learn exactly with whom are Elrond and Elros living with...

 

By next morning, a few hours after Maglor left, Elrond had been finally able allowed to go downstairs and decided he would do so at once. He had seen the search party from his window and had waved goodbye, although with little hopes of them seeing him. He had been pleasantly surprised when he saw Maglor and some of his elves return the farewell gesture.

 

He had dressed himself with Yára’s help, having his movement restrained by his wounds.

 

Her clever fingers untangled and braided his hair neatly before she allowed him out of the room.

 

“Thank you, Ammë,” he told her once she stepped back and walked through the door with him.

 

She was a petite, kind, Vanyarin elleth, sister in law to Maglor and Maedhros. Her own son, Celebrimbor, was off with Gil-Galad’s people after renouncing his father. She had only visited him once, after his father’s death, and even when she kept him always present in thought, she rarely wrote to him, as not many messengers were willing to do the dangerous trip between Amon Ereb and the shore.

 

She had once told them that she much preferred to stay with Maedhros and his brother rather than to go west. Even if the High King and her son received her, she knew that she would not be welcomed due to her endless loyalty to her husband while he lived.

 

At first, the boys had seen her as a spy come to deceive them and gain their trust, always reporting everything to Fëanorians, but eventually her sweet temper and motherly manner towards them had won them over.

 

She had been the one who had taken care of them when they first came.

 

The Fëanorians had returned from the coast and had finally reached their fortress under a copious storm, with the sons of Eärendil soaked and shivering from cold and fear tucked in the cloaks.

 

Maglor and her had bathed, warmed, and fed the children that night, and from the following morning until a month later, they were in exclusively in Yára’s care, until Maglor and Erestor had begun their tutoring, with the occasional help of Maedhros and Yára herself.

 

By the end of the first year they had spent there, Elros already called her “mother,” and by the end of the second, Elrond followed suit. It had been awkward at first, they even had been discouraged to do so, but eventually they had all gotten used to it, the same way they had learned to call Maglor “Father.”

 

Mother and Father… he somehow could not picture himself calling Elwing and Eärendil that way.

 

The words felt too intimate for two people who were complete strangers to the sons they had brought into the world.

 

And, his brother… well, he knew Elros had never truly forgiven them for leaving their children behind. Before they came to Amon Ereb, life had been much more complicated for Elros than for him. More mannish in his actions and thoughts than his brother, he had been left alone in a mostly elvish settlement that expected him to act like them.

 

Elrond still felt guilty for all the times that not only had he seen tutors and nurses bully his brother without saying anything, but also for the times he himself had provoked such actions.

 

That had been a sore point for him when the Feänorions had taken them away from the shore. The preference towards him had finished.

 

Where was his brother now? Was he all right? Was he safe?

 

He had been the one that ignored Maedhros’s orders and had jumped into the squabble, even when Elros wanted to leave. His brother had been right, though. If Maedhros had not been concerned with their safety, he would have likely gotten out of there only with minor scratches.

 

And he was to blame.

 

He was responsible for the mess they were all in now.

 

In addition, to make it worse, Maglor had not reprimanded him for it.

 

_You are young, and you saw someone you care about go into battle. It is natural that your first reaction was to follow. Your choices might have been mistaken, but your reactions are more than understandable…_

He knew what the old elf was doing, and he was doing it so well that Elrond could only admire him.

 

Maglor was letting his own guilt be his punishment, spiced with a few wise words here and there. Knowing the brothers as he now did, he knew that guilt could be a heavy companion. Only now did he realize how heavy a burden it really was.

 

That did not mean that Maedhros would not tan his hide for disobeying as soon as he was strong enough to do so. That was really something he did not look forward to happen. Punishment by his hand was always memorable, although even he had to admit that it was always just.

 

“Relax, young Elrond, Maglor has captured harder things to track down than your brother.” A voice told him as he made his way to the breakfast room and he turned to find Erestor sitting by the table, with a cold meat pie sitting in front of him.

 

“Such as?” Elrond asked, more out of desperation than anything as he sat across from Erestor.

 

“Lindáriel’s skirts” the elf in front of him answered and not a second later, a wooden mixing spoon connected painfully with his knuckles.

 

“Hey! What was that for?” he demanded as Yára arched an eyebrow, the offending object clutch firmly in her hand.

 

“You know perfectly well why,” she answered, returning to the kitchen by a side door as Miluiel walked in with two jugs, one filled with milk and one with orange juice and placed them on the table.

 

No sooner had she left the jugs in the table, she turned and landed a small smack to the back of Erestor’s head.

 

“You, too?” he asked, incredulous.

 

“Yes, you should not make such jokes, least of all in front of Elrond.” She answered and he threw a hurt look her way as she returned to the kitchen. Lindáriel was Maglor’s wife; she had died when orcs had overrun Himring after the Nirnaeth. Maglor had loved her desperately, and was still mourning her.

 

The boy pressed his lips together, trying to contain the smile that threatened to appear on his face.

 

The ellyth returned at last with a basked of bread and a warm applesauce and sat side by side with them, just as Arissë and Yávion entered the room.

 

The table was mean to sit ten people in it and Maglor insisted that, at least breakfast, they all ate together.

 

“Saerwen is staying in the hospital with Lord Maedhros,” announced the housemaid as she took her sit next to the cook, and Yávion plopped down next to Erestor, causing a small cloud of chimney dust to fall over the administrator.

 

“Couldn’t you wash yourself before coming here?” he demanded, annoyed.

 

“I’ll only get dirty again when I’m done,” the other elf shrugged indifferently.

 

Elrond noticed that while Yávion’s clothes were infested with dust, it was too much to have come from that morning alone, his hands were impeccable as was most of his face, save from his cheeks and forehead.

 

Likely, he had dusted himself to taunt Erestor while Maglor was away and Maedhros could not call them to order.

 

The young half-elf looked around the table and sighed, knowing that much of the optimism in the table was for his sake alone. They were likely worried about Elros as well, they had known the twins since they were little more than toddlers. He and Elros had always seemed younger than they were for man-years, but they had developed faster than most elflings.

 

He was fond of them, perhaps too fond of them all.

 

The places at the extremes of the table were empty, since Maglor was away and Maedhros was in the hospital wing.

 

Yára usually sat at Maglor’s right side. Curufin’s wife was considered the Lady of Amon Ereb. She had been the closest thing the twins had to a mother since… probably forever. She had been a baker in Tirion, and had own a teashop. That was how she had met her husband. Elrond was certain that no one would ever be able to create a pastry that Yára was not able to cook, evolve, or perfect.

 

Next to her sat Miluiel, the cook. She was a Sinda that had landed with the Fëanorians after the Nirnaeth. The laws that forbid elves to marry in times of war had not stopped her from having a passionate affair with the youngest of the brothers. Maedhros and Maglor treated her more like a sister than a mere servant. The reason she was still working in the kitchen was that no one was a better cook than she was, and she actually enjoyed cooking.

 

Then was Arissë, who was as much a housemaid as a handmaiden to Yára. From what Elrond had heard, she had been handmaiden to Míriel Serindë herself, and then to Nerdanel. She always behaved in a form of motherly fashion to the brothers. She was loyal to a fault although she was one frightfully gossipy elleth.

 

The place next to her was painfully empty, as Elros, who sat to the left of Maedhros, usually occupied it.

 

On the other side of the empty spot where the redhead usually ate, was Erestor. He had been schoolmate to Maglor in Alqualondë, where one studied mathematics and the other studied music. He had followed them into exile, and had been the chief butler in Himring. He was one of Elrond’s favorite people, efficient, reliable…, and sarcastic to unsuspected extremes.

 

He had also helped tutoring the boys in arithmetic and history as they grew.

 

Next was Saerwen, the resident medic. She was a serious, down to business elleth that had come to live with them when they were children, by request of Maglor. She had been originally recruited as an art tutor for them, as she had been an artist in Valinor, after Maglor had found a small sketchbook of Elros and decided that his brother had a potential that needed to be exploited.

 

As Erestor had a certain affinity with Elrond, Saerwen was more fond of Elros, who had the strange skill to make her smile regards the situation.

 

She had appointed herself the resident medic three days after her arrival, when she realized there was no one occupying the position.

 

Then there was Yávion, who was as much a footman as a repairer. There were little things escaped his multiple skills. So far, Elrond had seen him be a carpenter, a valet, a stable hand, a secretary, a locks man, a veterinarian, a trader, a lumberjack, a mason, a thatcher, a tailor, a gardener, and a babysitter. He and Elros used to joke, as children, that he could be a household all in himself.

 

Many of their practical skills they had learned from either him or Maedhros.

 

In theory, Arissë was Yávion’s assistant. In practice, she was his boss.

 

Plus the soldiers under Maedhros orders, that had always been kind to them, from the very beginning. Elrond was pretty sure that their small kindnesses and occasional treats towards his brother and him had began as nothing but pity, but eventually things had changed.

 

The little lords, as they called them, had become a part of the settlement of Amon Ereb. They knew all the people and families living under the protection of Maglor, and they felt more at home than if they had been born there.

 

He was happy in there, he realized.

 

Elros and he were happy, and he fervently wished, when his brother returned, that they would be allowed to remain there for as long as possible.


	7. That was Different

“You’re a menace!” Elros growled, closing his eyes tightly and holding back the urge to retch.

 

“You’re a baby!” Carlia answered after giving Elros his pain potion.

 

He was still not able to stand on his own, and he had the sense that she had not told him the entire truth referring to his wounds.

 

Carlia removed the bandage of his arm gingerly, avoiding moving the scab as much as she could. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the wound. For all of her efforts, infection had caught.

 

“It is not healing as it should, it is not healing at all,” she grunted under her breath.

 

“There’s pus in there…,” he murmured, and she arched a sarcastic eyebrow.

 

“I can see that…” she blushed and turned her eyes away.

 

“The blade was poisoned, was it not?” Elros asked in a sardonic and annoyed voice and she turned to look at him before nodding reluctantly.

 

“You should have told me!” he snapped and she hissed softly.

 

“Don’t yell at me!” she told him.

 

“Don’t lie to me!” he countered and they glared at one another for a few seconds.

 

She sighted softly and left the bed, heading to a piece of furniture with many drawers and pulled a small box from one of them, where he knew that she kept the medicines and bandages , and then returned to sit on the bed next to him.

 

Carlia eyed him carefully before smirking and walking up to the door.

 

“Ikki!” she called and her sister appeared by the door, “could you start warming water? Our dear friend needs to clean himself if he is to fight infection,”

 

“Hey! Wait! What?” he asked as the girl nodded and walked out the door to the small fountain a few paces outside the door of the house.

 

Carlia turned to look at him and noticed his cheeks had turned bright pink.

 

It was not that he did not need the bath; he had not cleaned himself since Carlia had helped him with a wet towel two days ago. She did that every other day, but he was never truly clean afterwards, just less smelly. It was that as far as he had observed there was little to no privacy in the house and he would need help.

 

It was embarrassing enough to know that she helped him use an old iron pan to relief himself…

 

He was certain he was going to burn in flames of shame the first time she had helped him sit on it, but she had been very… understanding with him. _We all have been wounded badly or been sick; after all,_ she had told him.

 

“Well, you do stink, Elros,” she told him shamelessly and returned to her place next to him, reaching for his arm, “although if I must be honest with myself, you smell much less than the average man.”

 

“You lie to me and then you insult me?” he asked, outraged.

 

“It was for your own sake and it is not an insult if it is true,” she answered and then took out a small knife from her box and small flask.

 

“What will you do to me?” Elros asked warily and she rolled her eyes.

 

“I have to get the infection out.” She told him and opened the flask. The penetrating smell of medicinal alcohol reached his nose as she wetted a small cloth with it and then cleaned the knife.

 

“In spite of what I just gave you, it is going to hurt… a lot,” Carlia warned him as she placed his arm over a piece linen she had placed over her thighs, before opening the wound and pressing her fingers on the sides firmly and painfully.

 

Elros grunted softly as he saw her push out the pus in firm, unforgiving strokes of her fingers until blood ran healthy and red over the linen.

 

She then poured some alcohol over the wound and he held back the impulse to retrieve his much-abused arm. She cleaned his arm with fresh linen and bandaged it tightly.

 

“I’ll have to change your bandage twice a day instead of daily,” Carlia told him with an apologetic voice before cleaning the knife again and placing it and the flask back in the box, over a bed of fresh unused linen an gathering the bloodied cloths in her hand. “These we burn,” she told him, raising the hand with the used linen softly.

 

He nodded once, but was unable to say anything as Iskandra barged into the room, announcing that the water was ready.

 

Her sister thanked her softly and ordered her to place small bench outside, next to the door.

 

Elros literally flinched on himself when Carlia turned to him with a wicked grin and walked to the bed.

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

The water was warm, contrasting with the cold wind that blew mildly outside, and Carlia made sure she was as fast as possible.

 

It had been around four weeks since Elros had been able to see the outside world. The last time had been the morning of the attack.

 

His leg had not quite healed and even walking with Carlia’s help pained him a lot. She was much stronger than he had first given her credit for, and so was her sister.

 

Iskandra was a kind, merry girl that had taken the task of patrolling nearly all on her own after their encounter with orcs. Elros had noticed they were a disciplined pair when it came to their duties, even if they liked to slack in their time off.

 

The water flowing through his hair, followed by Carlia’s fingers, felt wonderful, as it cleaned away the dirt and grime from days. She helped him clean his body with a wash towel to avoid him hurting himself by accident and then helped him dry and braided his hair.

 

Carlia eyed him carefully wondering what he would be like in full control of his body. What would his combat style would be? How much more stronger than them would he be when was fully healed? Would he turn against them?

 

No, something in her mind told he would never harm them. However that certainty only made her curiosity grow.

 

Elros turned took a deep breath once she was finished with his hair, preparing for what was coming next. He had already washed his upper body, and he began to undo his pants and pull them down carefully, focusing on not moving his left leg when he noticed she took a step back and stared at him, blushing wildly.

 

He opened his mouth and then closed it. He had gotten so used to having her around that he did not give a second thought about how awkward it would be for her to see him fully naked. She had helped him before but… this was different.

 

“You need to wash yourself, I am sorry, is just that you caught me unawares,” She told him, taking a step forward and helping him out of his pants with a cool composed expression on her face and both of their cheeks burning. His skin, only now did she realized that he smelled of leather and sandalwood.

 

He cleaned himself mechanically, avoiding her eyes as she poured water gently over his legs and waist, and then she helped him dry himself.

 

“I cannot let you put these back on. At least not yet, not until they have been washed,” She told him, grabbing his clothes and pulling them together in a messy ball in her hands.

 

Elros stared at her flabbergasted, “Then what am I supposed to wear?”

 

“Your birthday suit,” she smirked and threw his clothes in the bucket still half full with water. “Iskandra was changing your sheets, those we shall wash too.”

 

Carlia placed herself next to him and reached out to help him get on his feet. He held on to her arm and placed his weight on his good leg as she threw his arm around her shoulders to guide him back inside.

 

She kept her eyes fixed on the front, avoiding even turning to look at his face. They made their way slowly back to the entrance of the small hut built into a stone where the sister made their temporary abode and Carlia sat Elros on the small kitchen table.

 

She sat in front of him and leaned her arms crossed over the table, glad for the table that kept her from getting a full view of Elros, as her sister left the bedroom, carrying the dirty sheets in her arms, and walked out the door without giving them so much as a spare glance.

 

“I guess your bed is ready…” Carlia mumbled before standing up and helping him back into bed.

 

After making sure he was comfortable and perfectly covered, she hurried out and found her sister by the door.

 

 

The very wicked grin that always made chills run down Carlia’s very bones.

 

“You have the hots for him, do you not, Car?”

 

She opened her mouth outraged.

 

“Absolutely not!”

 

“Good, because I have discovered a hunting party searching for him”

 

“How can you know they are searching for him?” the elder demanded with a small frown.

 

“They are elves and they are searching the place of the battle, they can’t be looking for anyone else.”

 

Carlia sighed deeply and looked back to the closed door of the bedroom where Elros was.

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

They had registered and searched the point where the hunting party had last seen Elros. They were running low on provisions and after two weeks camping in the spot, they still had found nothing. November was looming over their heads dangerously and small amounts of snow had begun to fall.

 

Maglor was growing impatient and desperate with each passing day and eventually began to snap at his soldiers for no reason. He was, after all, his father’s son… he was bound to have inherited at least a trace of Fëanor’s temper.

 

The hunting group, along with a third party, whose posture he was not certain of, had eradicated the orc pack. If only they could identify the third group…

 

Elros’s trace ended at the river, and even when they had searched the riverbanks and the water, they had found no trace of him.

 

The elf, however, refused to return with his tail between his legs.

 

Not only would that crush Elrond, but also Nelyo and himself. Of the ellyth’s reaction, he did not even want to imagine.

 

“Lord Maglor, I believe we better return to Amon Ereb. Starving and freezing to death in here will not help young Lord Elros,” a voice called softly behind him and Maglor turned around, half a snarl in his mouth until he recognized the elf that had spoken to him.

 

His name was Nierion, and he was the kennel master. His charges ran aimlessly through the camp now, and one of them pushed his snout under Maglor’s fingers and pressed his head against the elf’s palm.

 

There was something oddly comforting about this gesture from the animal, showing his trust and love for the elf.

 

“Tell me then, please, what will?” he asked, caressing the dog absentmindedly.

 

Nierion lowered his eyes and dropped his shoulders in defeat. He had no answer to give to his lord and to help that boy they had seen grow up for the past eighteen years there was little he could do.

 

“Just five more days, then we head back…” Maglor ordered and disappeared into the forest, not minding the dog that walked beside him, still trying to press his snout against his fingers.


End file.
